Rebound
by WhisperedMuse
Summary: Latest Chapter - The Bigger Man Part 2; based on episodes 3 and 4 and the storyline about Michael's newspaper headlines, Sian's dealings with his father and the conversation at the end of episode 3. Sian/Michael one-shots from pre-Waterloo Road and beyond.
1. Classroom Rendezvous

So first WR fic for me... I got bitten by the Sian/ Michael bug but not as brilliantly as I first thought. At the moment, this is a one-shot. I do have more of a developed story planned for it, but I'm making no promises because I'm really busy. This is pre Waterloo Road and actually pre Michael getting stabbed, so no Jez, no other kids etc. So for now - a Sian/Michael one-shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own it - or them...

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Rebound

"Miss Edwards, have you got a minute?" Sian looked up after hearing the knock and the sentence that came fused to it. He had to learn to stop that. 'That' being assuming she wasn't in the middle of something when he knocked and ploughing straight on with whatever he had to say. She pointedly yet playfully set down her pen, looking at the clock on her desk in the lab before waving dismissively at her small study group.

"We only have five minutes left. Go to lunch early – but I want those experiment reports in on time with no excuses!" She smiles warmly at her group of dedicated students before ushering them out of the lab and then leaning back on one of the taller desks looking expectantly at Michael. He slowly stepped into the room after the last student had dashed for the door and walked with purpose towards her.

"Aren't we in a rewarding mood today?" He suggestively quipped, coming to a stop in front of her, his arm instinctively ending up holding the edge of the desk next to her hip.

"They've been working hard." She returns, looking him straight in the eye with a penetrating gaze. "And they would still have been working hard had you not interrupted their session…" She raised her eyebrows slightly, showing him that she knew exactly why he had knocked on her door and it wasn't anything to do with work.

"Five minutes isn't going to hurt their future careers… " He jokes, running his other hand slowly down from her elbow to her hand and squeezing it. "Besides I needed to see you. I missed you this morning-"

"Because you had a meeting" Sian interjected, looking fleetingly down at where their hands were joined before setting her eyes back on his face with a smirk.

"Because I had a meeting…" He conceded and with a grimace continued "and I have another one now…" He saw the deliberate roll of her eyes – her attempt at pretending to brush off the hurt with a joke – but he also saw the tiny huff of a sigh escape her lips. "I know I said lunch. But can I make it up to you tonight? Anywhere you want, my shout?" He looked hopefully at her, using his free hand to skirt round and rest at the small of her back. His preventative measure for when she tried to resist him and pull back; which she did moments later. Realising he had a strong hold of her Sian surrendered a smile as he leant in to capture her lips in a light kiss.

"You're incorrigible…" Sobering up she replied more seriously. "Can we just stay in? Pizza and a bottle in front of the T.V sounds really good right now. I need to forget about how spectacularly some of my pupils are about to fail their mock exams…" She watches as he physically mulls it over, his head moving from one side to the other.

"Sure." He kisses her again then, deeper this time. His hand moves from hers and finds the side of her face and then he's pressing up against her. She enjoys the feeling of him being so close to her, he's strong, assured, controlled and safe and Sian counts herself lucky that she's found someone like Michael to make her feel untouchable: secure. Her hands rest comfortably on his chest and both his hands are now on either cheek, pulling her face closer still. She wraps her hands around the lapels of his expensive suit jacket, the top of her hand brushing against the silky material of his pocket square, the one he only ever wears for board meetings. Sian smiles and pulls back.

"You're going to be late…" But her warning falls on deaf ears as his lips come crashing back down on hers again, almost desperately. She pushes him a bit more forcefully this time. "Michael. Go. Otherwise I might not bring my rewarding mood home with me tonight." She still has hold of his lapels and uses them to position herself so her mouth if hovering by his left ear. "There were other reasons I asked you for a night in." Sian found it difficult to keep the smile out of her voice as she could feel him stiffen at her tone. She was still unbelievably close to him and it wouldn't be long before he was unable to control himself. Having mercy on him she let go and watched as he slowly back away with eyes firmly on her.

"Tonight." Michael nodded at her as he retreated out of the door of the science lab in the direction of his office.

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It wasn't often that Sian went back to Michael's flat after a full day at school to find him already there. It was the reason he had given her the key to his place so early on in their relationship, after a brilliant incident in which he arrived home spectacularly late to find her nearly asleep on the steps of his flat; he had cut her a key so she 'didn't have to look like a tramp' again. She still couldn't quite believe the rush of relief she got when she heard the satisfying creak and slam of the front door behind her, alerting Michael to the fact she had arrived and her to the fact she could finally switch off from work. She leant against the radiator as she swiftly toed off her regulation height heels and felt the soft carpet of the hallway beneath her feet. She had half expected Michel to be all laminate flooring and minimalism, but it was surprisingly comforting. Most rooms were carpeted and there wasn't a leather sofa or clear-glass table in sight. Instead, she wandered through to the living room, she had heard the television reduce in volume after the door had closed behind her so Sian knew she didn't need to shout that she was back – he had heard. Michael was, in fact, facing the entrance to the living room and he caught her eye as soon as she appeared in the doorway, fixing her with an assured smile. She gave him a tired one back, before letting her knees give way and flopping onto the sofa next to him. He moved his arm so it was around her shoulders and she leaned into him, momentarily shutting her eyes.

"Hey." Michael said softly in greeting. "Long day?" He got a small 'hmm' and a slow nod against his chest in response and he laughed to himself before dropping a kiss to Sian's temple and tracing a lazy pattern on her outside shoulder. "Do you still want pizza or would you rather just sleep? Because either's good with me…" To be honest Michael wasn't holding out for a reply, but he relinquished his hold on Sian as she rose into a sitting position to face him.

"This was supposed to be our night… I'm so sorry Michael but…" She sighed heavily, looking down into her lap. "I am so tired." He only pulled her head back down into its earlier position.

"It's fine. You rest, we've got plenty of time for everything else."

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Leave a review if you feel like it, I always like to know what you guys think.


	2. Are you Happy?

So, here's another chapter. I say chapter, but I think I've decided that this will be a fic of one-shots through varying times in Sian and Michael's relationship. It really interests me, Sian seems to be a complex character type we haven't seen on Waterloo Road before; her and Michael both and I wanted to explore a bit of that. This one is definitely better than the first one, but it's darker, because that's primarily what I do best.

Thank you for your reviews/ favourites. I wasn't expecting any form of response because this wasn't a Tom/Nikki fic or about any of the pupils but it was nice to hear some of you enjoyed it.

Dislaimer: Don't own it… Or them…

An alternate and more in-depth study into the events during and after Sian's comment 'I never did like whiskey' in series 7 episode 13.

She honestly thought she'd put it all to bed. He'd been stabbed, ignored her, silently broken up with her and then she'd met a married man, moved in with him somewhere new, got married, ended up working for her ex-boyfriend and living with her husband's children from his first marriage. Her life was complicated enough, and she thought she'd moved past it. But that was before he'd changed the game.

She could tell he'd always been a bit jealous of Jez, after all they were married now. A part of Sian had definitely read Michael's initial jealousy as discomfort, especially when Jez was describing their honeymoon – what ex-boyfriend ever wants to hear about an old partner's married life? However it wasn't long before she discovered that Michael was, indeed, envious of her new relationship and this made Sian a little confused to say the least. She still wanted to see the good in Michael. Sian viewed their coming to Waterloo Road as a fresh start. New school, new kids, no past baggage for either of them. Or for Jez. She chose to see blatant jealousy as… overprotectiveness? Him looking out for her maybe? But it couldn't be envy. _He_ broke up with _her_.

It wasn't really until he touched her hand over the proffered whiskey glass that she realised what he had been hinting at for weeks. His eyes met hers in a solid stare, urging her to understand what he was trying desperately to communicate with her. Everything slowly starts falling into place, the compliments, the extra work after hours… He was just trying to spend more time with her. Sian doesn't like the direction the conversation is heading in. She likes her life, the likes Jez. But was liking enough?

"Michael…" She warns him. Stop. But somehow she feels it's more of a warning to herself. Even the thought that she was remotely entertaining the possibility of renewing her relationship with Michael was madness. She was settling. No she was settled. Settled. God her brain was doing somersaults inside her head – she was clever. Her mind never raced like this, not even during exams. Exams had given her adrenaline, a rush, she enjoyed exercising her brain but this… This was terrible. The emotional conflict was blurring the moral lines and suddenly her marriage band became hot around her finger, it contrasted the feel of the whiskey glass and his fingers. They were still touching hers. He's talking to her and she's trying not to listen but he's offering up temptation and dangling it right in front of her nose and it's not fair. It's not fair and he knows that it's not. He's like her, clever calm and calculated. He has a great poker face and an even better aptitude for chess and she knows there's a reason he's moving now; which only serves to infuriate her further. She takes a moment to clear her head of everything that isn't anger and she looks up at his eyes, steeling herself. "You know what? I never really liked whiskey." It was a cheap shot, she knew, but she really hoped that he'd understand the scathing metaphor enough to stop hounding her and leave her to her new life. All Sian could think to do was grab her bag and walk calmly out of his office as her anger bubbled away at the surface of her skin, making it crawl unsettlingly as she headed towards the stairs. A cool breeze hit her as she slowed her pace and stopped at the top of the stairwell outside the office. Sian closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, willing the headache nudging away at her temples to disperse as she turned around and leant her bottom against the bannister. She dropped her handbag, rubbing the bridge of her nose with two fingers. She couldn't really go home like this. She was furious – and Jez thought she'd be working late. The door to Michael's office closed and she knew he was making his way out, so she hurriedly picked up her bag and tried to descend the stairs. Unfortunately for her, there was little space between the office and the steps and Michael had already appeared, looking a little defeated. His eyes widened slightly as he saw her.

"Sian…" It was a reflex, something to stop her moving that wasn't physical (because that had gone really well last time).

"Don't." She murmured in reply. She had stopped on the stairs but was refusing to look at him, anger seemed to seep out of every pore of her skin. Although quiet, the one word wasn't without intent, and Michael would have been warned off, but clearly he had been bottling things up for far too long and he couldn't stop himself.

"I can't not." His voice got lighter, as though the idea that he could not pursue her was laughable, a stupid idea.

"Why not?" She snipped, finally looking up at him from her position on the stairs. "Why. Not?" The confused look on his face was enough to snap the thread holding her sanity together. "I am with Jez now. I'm married Michael. Who do you think you are?"

"I don't-"

"No you don't know! You invite me here with the promise of fresh start and then you pull something like this? How did you think I was going to react? You left me - remember?" She flicked her eyes to the floor briefly, steadying herself but it gave Michael ample opportunity to barge in.

"I had been stabbed!"

"And don't I know it!" Michael physically recoiled then. Sian didn't often shout – not even at his old school when things were really out of control. He saw her catch her breath, but something was different, this wasn't just her calming down her anger. Was she crying? "I waited for you. I was the one holding your hand in the ambulance. I was the one in that hospital room for a week solid when you were unconscious and then… Then you woke up and what? I didn't matter to you. At all, Michael. Remember the part where you kicked me out of your room? The day you were so angry that I'd tried to come back that you threw a glass of water at me when I left for the second time. Not to mention the ignored calls, I had no idea if you were even alive, let alone whether you want to see me, and then when I called the hospital and hey told me you'd been discharged I kind of figured that it was over. That's how poorly you treated me. That's what I put up with, for you. We go through all that and now I find Jez and I'm married and you throw this all up again." She raised her hands a little, showing him how utterly confused he'd made her, how she couldn't comprehend why he was even trying to rake up everything in their past – everything _painful _for his own sake.

"I was messed up." A dark laugh erupted from within Sian's small frame. "Letting you go… It was one of the worst mistakes of my life. And now I see you with Jeremy and wonder how? How did you go from me to that Sian?"

"He appreciates me. He knows I'm there." Michael's turn to laugh.

"Appreciates you? You mean, buys you designer shows and gives a decent shag on a regular basis? He's not on your level Sian – hell, he's not anywhere near your league! Honestly what do you two talk about? Have in common?"

"Shut up! Just stop! This isn't getting us anywhere. I am married to Jez, Michael. It's not going to change, it happened, we are over. " She swallows thickly, arms at her sides, handbag in hand. He looks down at her with a half sad, half sorry smiles and simply asks:

"But are you happy?"

She can't lie to him. So she simply doesn't answer as she walks down the stairs towards her car.


	3. Everyone Breaks

My take on what could happen at the beginning of series 8. I don't know what happens, but my guess is not all the people involved in the crash make it to Glasgow. So call this AU?

Title: Everyone Breaks

Summary: He asked her name rather than saying it, too much surety sometimes made her stand-offish and he didn't want a confrontation since he'd been spying on her for a while.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own it, never will.

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He finds her in her new office with her back to him, looking out of the window. It's obvious that she's trying to calm herself down before she faces the kids; she's never been one for airing her problems and her feelings in public. She doesn't like looking weak: being humiliated. He can see a bit of her left hand placed lightly on the windowsill, there's a white mark where her wedding ring should be; he figures that today is a day for rebuilding, forging onwards, she was encouraging the students and leading by example. Michael wondered if Madi knew? If she was okay with Sian taking such a drastic leap forward?

Not wanting to disturb her just yet, Michel took his time taking her in. Sian's shoes were simple, newly polished but not extravagant by any means, they were her comfort shoes – high enough to hint at confidence yet comfortable enough to make her stand steady – they were scuffed on the heel from such frequent use. He could tell she was nervous. He weight was ever so slightly off centre and the heel of the leg supporting less weight was bouncing millimetres off the floor at a terrific speed. Sian was most definitely a duck. Maintaining a calm image, she could battle through almost anything; even if beneath the surface she's desperately kicking to stay afloat. Flesh-coloured tights adorned her legs; not the type that made skin look orange – the nice Marks and Spencer's kind that she bought often. One of her indulgences, she said. She couldn't abide cheap tights that itched and laddered after two hours; and they did ladder, because she _always_ caught them on something or_ he _used to catch them. That made her really angry. He still found it attractive. Michael could fully appreciate her legs from this angle, the shoes made her lower legs look wonderfully toned and her knew her thighs were just as well shaped underneath her skirt suit. He couldn't help but ponder if she was wearing full tights or hold-ups… As his eyes travelled further up her body – past her wonderful bum (inappropriate for today Michael) he stopped at the small of her back, remembering all the times he'd left a hand there. She carried off suits well, especially the ones with the floppy-looking blazers. She said she'd had 'too many fashion frights in her life and that shoulder pads should remain in the eighties' for that reason alone. Her shoulders weren't shaking. In fact, they were rising and falling slowly as she took steadying breaths in and out. It was only when her right hand came and she dabbed under an eye with her middle finger that he guessed she was crying at all. Michael knew he couldn't stand watching forever. "Sian?" He asked her name rather than saying it, too much surety sometimes made her stand-offish and he didn't want a confrontation since he'd been spying on her for a while. He saw her hand fall to her side, her heel stopped bouncing and she stiffened somewhat as she turned round, a faint convincing smile adorned her face as she turned around and leant back on the windowsill behind her. Michael saw straight through it but chose to ignore it. "You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah." She said lightly, the edges of her mouth rising in an attempt to widen her really fake smile. Sian could see he wasn't buying it but she had no energy so she reasserted: "Yeah… You?" He tipped his head sideways a little and shrugged.

"Not sure… Never had to do a memorial for a pupil before." He slowly walked towards her and perched himself on the edge of her desk, facing her before quickly turning his eyes to the window; looking out onto the new playing field where a truck sat, back open, with men pulling a small sapling out from it. They were about to drop it next to the hole in the ground that had been dug especially for today. Staff had decided – well, Tom had suggested- to plant a tree in the reflection garden, it was the least they can do. "I think I'm a bit out of my depth." Running a hand across the lower half of his face he sighed, looking up at the ceiling before returning his gaze to the floor. He leant back a bit as he realised she had held out her hand to him, palm down, reaching for his hand. Gratefully he took it.

"I can't help thinking…" She started, but she her head and stopped herself. "Forget it." She crossed one ankle over the other and rested her head on the cool glass of her office window. Neither of them could bring themselves to break the silence that descended slowly upon them like a shroud. It was almost protection, the sound of each other's breathing being the only discernable sound in the room. He saw her blink forcefully, rapidly and purse her lips; swallowing thickly the lump of emotion that he knew had gathered in her throat. He squeezed her hand subtly, enough to show her he'd seen but light enough to prove that she didn't have to share. They still knew how the other worked, what they needed, what they hated doing. Michael wouldn't make her say anything until she was together enough to say it plainly. Silence was starting to deafen him, he was keeping an eye on the steady stream of students walking into the school on their first day, aware that it was nearly time for assembly, form time and the service itself, but Michael didn't want to leave this. He needed Sian to be strong today. The kids loved Tom, but he wasn't a woman. Some of his students would be much more comfortable with Sian's warm, sincere personality. He was also worried about her. She never bought her personal problems into work; but then again, the day was going to be very difficult. "They've lost a friend… The kids that came from Rochdale have no one here. No support system. How are they supposed to deal with… this?" She shook her head and met his eyes for the first time. They had hurt in them, and while he knew her concern for the pupils was a genuine one, he knew that this was about more than that. Leaning forward and using one arm on her desk for support, he countered her:

"How are you coping?" It was a short question, but it must've initially stung her and she reflexively withdrew her hand from his. Breathing out shakily she shook her head fractionally, pressing her lips together. Sian shrugged and looked away, no doubt to hide the tears swimming in her eyes.

"I haven't felt this alone in a while… I'm living by myself again, the kids have gone back to Sarah and… well, Jez is gone. Last time we spoke he was thinking about going back to the army." She laughed humourlessly as she saw a momentarily confused look in Michael's eyes. "I don't want him back. We… didn't work, as a couple anyway. But I _miss_ him. I miss someone to fall back on, as a friend. And it's totally silly, I'm lucky to still be here, to have a job but… I can't help but think if I hadn't told you to pull over for Denzil to take that stupid picture-"

"Shhh…" She was getting worked up now, almost choking on her last word as he put a stop to the tide of sentences, regrets, haunting thoughts that were spilling from her mouth. He swapped from leaning on the desk to leaning on the windowsill next to her, pulling her head onto his shoulder and wrapping two strong arms around her tightly. He wanted to make his point clear. "You are not responsible for any of this Sian. Accidents happen and I'm pretty sure the lorry driver is on trial because he killed a child, it was his fault – no-one else's." He felt the first sob bubble from her lips and escape into the silence of the office. He held the back of her head, letting her cry into his neck and rubbing her back with his other hand. She didn't lose her composure for long, long shuddering breaths replaced ugly cries as she regained some composure; but Sian chose to remain in his embrace anyway, enjoying to contact. "You are not alone." He said into her hair. "Whatever you need from me, Sian, you just have to ask." She pulled back and raised her eyebrows, murmuring his name in warning. "As a friend." He clarified. She smiled sadly and broke his hold, turning to face the window again, leaning on her hands. She studied the new pupils walking through the gates, her eyes locking on some of the boarders sauntering in reluctantly as a unit. She could tell they felt threatened by all this; it wasn't going to be easy on any of them. Determination returned to her face and without breaking her gaze on the playground she said:

"I'll meet you down there in ten minutes, we'll need to explain to the staff about who will be missing from their forms this morning…" Michael looked at her and nodded, an impressed smile on his face as he got up and walked towards the door.

"And Sian?" She turned her head in acknowledgement this time; fixing him with a straight face. "I'm glad you're here." He didn't stay for her reaction; instead he walked calmly to the door and left the office to start dealing with the zoo waiting for him downstairs.

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Let me know what you thought!


	4. You Never Dance With Me

It's been a while since my last one of these, thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. This one is set during the finale episode, at the party but before the drama with the crossbow. If you rewatch the bit that I've written about and keep an eye out for Michael, you can see his dance attempts (he's actually better than I made him out to be, but I had the idea before I rewatched the episode and worked the dialogue around what I wanted. It was cuter that way. I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter yet. It's not Sian/Michael as a pairing, not until the end anyway – I like to think this highlights their friendship at the end of Series 7. I still think Sian is very important to Michael and however much she wanted to move away from it when she was married to Jez, there's something about him that draws her back in too.

Please leave a comment if you have time, thanks for reading!

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**You Never Dance With Me**

He should have known they were up to something when the music changed. The kids were completely in charge of everything up until that point in proceedings and he was pretty sure 'Achey Breaky Heart' wasn't Madi's idea of a 'tune'. However, the sense of foreboding that he had let wash over him when he first interrupted the underground party had returned threefold when he spotted Maggie stuff a beaten cowboy hat unceremoniously onto Grantly's balding head. From his overly casual position at the make-shift bar, he could just about see Grantly's expression; it was a healthy mix of mild embarrassment and absolute devotion. Michael managed to share knowing smirks with Matt and Sian before he had to turn around with mortification as the soon-to-be house mistress turned the urban party into an eighties revival better suited to a local pub that hosts karaoke and speed dating. Unsure of whether he wanted to watch the car crash unfold (the kids were bound to protest at the music being usurped by the older generation) he slowly turned to face the action and his uneasy expression turned to a meek smile when he saw the students starting to embrace the chance to join in dancing to some cheesy eighties country and western. So unexpected was the sight, he totally missed the fleeting glance from Sian and the glint in her eye. Without warning, he felt two slender hands close around his wrist and a short – but quite powerful – tug forwards. He shook himself from his musing and locked eyes with his Deputy Head, who was urging him onto the dance floor, the correct term in this instance was 'dragging'; urging implied she was prepared to give up as she realised his discontent. Oh no… This was not happening. Every utterance of 'no' painted a different emotion on his (sparsely used) spectrum, from defiance through to outright desperation, but Sian was unwavering in her persistence to get him onto the dance floor. Her playful cajoling was breaking his resolve and he realised that she just wanted to give the pupils a good send-off and enjoy her last day with them. She carried him through this sort of public emotion, playfulness, juvenility, winding down at the appropriate moments. Michael knew he struggled with that sometimes, he didn't like embarrassment or weakness; he particularly hated crossing the line between helpful teacher and 'friend'. Admittedly his emotional balance was off and he could come across as cold, stern… Calculated. But however much Sian tried to soften him, she could not make him dance in public.

Michael stood firm for a few seconds, his verbal protest was doing nothing but he dug his heels in. A physical protest would have to do instead. With a pointed finger he gestured at her firmly. Sort of… "You know I don't dance." He said. And she did know. He could go to a pub, he put up with karaoke nights (as a spectator) and occasionally he went to a nightclub at university where he'd sit at watch, looking cool until a girl came over to him. Then he tended to take her home before she got him onto the dance floor. He didn't dance at weddings, he had never danced at a school prom while she had known him and it was all down to his incoordination and inability to move both legs and arms in time and at once. It hadn't escaped him that Sian had almost discovered her inner teenager when the music changed, complete with exclamation of 'you are so dancing!' which only served to amuse him more – his resolve was crumbling. It didn't take long to see the determination in Sian's eyes, which was only solidified with his half-arsed utterance of 'No way'. She complained then.

"You never dance with me!" An acknowledgement of the back and forth they tended to have at these events, which often led to Sian going off and finding a fellow female staff-member to dance with her instead, singing and dancing away with the older students that were leaving that particular year. It happened quite often at events, and had Nicki been around he was sure that Sian would probably have sought her out as a potential dancing partner; but unfortunately she wasn't on hand as a distraction. But he had danced with her, surely? Not in public but… Yes… Yes he had. Her statement had thrown him into reverie and before he knew it he felt another (somewhat stronger) tug on his arm and this one propelled him forward towards the centre of the floor. He yelled a joking 'thanks!' at his fellow bachelors at the bar who had not come to his aid and reluctantly followed Sian towards the lines of dancers.

Sian helpfully positioned them behind Maggie and Grantly, which he was grateful for. He knew exactly why he'd done it, she knew instantly how uncomfortable he was and this was her way of putting him at ease. Clearly she thought he needed to loosen up a bit too. Lowering his sight line to the floor, he observed the two pairs of feet in front of him: Step to the side… That could be done… Cross behind with the other then step to the side again… Maybe not. He was already lost. Feeling Sian's hand on his elbow he looked up with confusion written all over his face. She allowed herself a small laugh and followed it with a beaming smile, her eyes dancing in the low coloured light as she gently manoeuvred him to his right when the crowd moved. He stepped out with his right foot, forgetting to transfer his balance, wobbled a bit and then pitched into her (and nearly into Maggie too) finding himself facing the back of the room with a firm grip on each of his upper arms. He raised his gaze from the floor (too many pairs of feet to confuse him) and looked up into Sian's face. She had her head cocked to one side and her mouth was open slightly; her eyes sought his, silently checking that he was alright. Michael took a steadying breath in and nodded. "Only hurt my pride." He said with a shrug, smiling sheepishly as she set him straight again, a bit further back from the front but still centre. Sian taught him to cheat: Side – together – side- together: none of this criss-crossing he'd been trying before. What was it he said to the students? Don't run before you can walk?

After his first two successful lines of movement – to the left _and_ to the right, he offered her a wide grin of success.

"See," she states leaning in to be heard over the music. "Even you can dance to this one!" Before he can retort the moves change a bit and he grabs her hand in surprise as the student to his left and to the front move double-time over one of the steps.

"What the?" He asks rhetorically, eyes widening at the unexpected movement, Sian merely laughs as Scout loudly answers with a signature eye-roll:

"It's a shuffle Sir!" He shoots her an exaggerated look of understanding, furthering Sian's entertainment at his lack of rhythm before attempting the movements again, bringing his tally of treading on Sian's toes up to six in the process. Throughout the next few minutes, Sian and Michael giggle and stumble their way through the routine, speaking the movements to each other over the music, nudging each other in the right direction with their hips and clutching each others' hand when Michael made his inevitable mistakes and put them both off-kilter. He determinedly stared at their shoes so he could see exactly where his feet were going, until she nudged him with her elbow.

"It's good – you're _good_." He looked at her incredulously, almost stopping at her words.

"Oh really?" She nodded, mouthing a well-informed 'yep' and shooting him a playful grins before her face changed to one of surprise and urgency as she dropped his hand pointing to the left: "Oh shuffle! Shuffle!" He followed her; disappointed at the lack of contact but happy enough that they were having fun.

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He remembers a time early on in their relationship, after a prom. He surprises her by waiting up in his dinner jacket, sitting in the living room until he hears the door shut quietly and her slip off her shoes. Knowing she'll look in when she sees a light on, he stands and extends a hand ready for her. With a quizzical look on her face she slowly approaches him, squealing in surprise when he swiftly brings her in close, holding her hand with the other arm resting in the small of her back. They begin moving then, swaying slowly left and right and eventually she rests her head on his shoulder, in the crook of his neck. He can feel her breath against his collar and its cool against his skin. He feels her toes underneath one of his feet – thankfully he took his shoes off too – and he stalls, looking down at her awkwardly. She laughs just the once into his neck, shaking her head at his appalling co-ordination. When they start up again she asks him a question; her voice is husky from singing all night and how tired she is but he can still hear her: he won't be able to tomorrow. "Is this why you don't dance in public?" He detects how entertained she is by this but chooses to carry on; he enjoys having her this close to him, even if her feet don't.

"What do you think?" He retorts, his tone light. He realises she won't be annoyed when he refuses her anymore, but it won't stop her asking him the dance anyway – just in case.

"I think… We should do this more often…" He knows that's one thing he won't argue with…

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Let me know what you thought! :)


	5. Shut Out and Shut Down

For my reviewers, you are all awesome. Also, a thank you to Stacey whose review made me finish this chapter! And to answer a question I was asked by Fran: I don't know if they'll get back together in the next series, I think it would have to be done well to get me interested. There are a lot of issues there and they're a great professional team. I think they were also a great couple but that was before he was attacked, she was married and they got all confused. I think timing is a big issue for the two of them and they were happy until Michael got attacked and that was a massive turning point for them as a couple – this chapter is one of a couple that I want to explore that attack and what happened afterwards. They'll be a Sian/Jez first meeting coming up in the next few chapters too – not sure when yet though! This chapter is really long, just a heads up.

What did you guys think of the first episode back?

Disclaimer: I haven't done this for a while. Waterloo Road isn't mine, it's produced by Shed Media for the BBC, I'm just playing with the characters.

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Shutting Out and Shutting Down

Weakness. It wasn't something Michael was used to. It was something to be experienced briefly before batting it away, or filing it at the back of the cabinet with OFSTED reports from four years ago. Like those reports, it never got a public airing. Michael Byrne was not a weak man. He was passionate, strong, a leader of the lost. He was there to guide and mentor those who wanted it; and to discipline those who rebelled against it, and this made him an excellent head teacher. He also loved the challenge of taking on a failing school. Taking the helm, he believed he could stop the ship from sinking but he had underestimated the toll that it would take on him. It was hard, he was used to having a few mouthy kids to throw in detention for tiny misdemeanours; swearing, being late, not having a long enough tie. God help them if they ran into his science class ten minutes late, half dressed, complaining about the 'fucking bus'. Naturally he had dealt with the more serious of errors too: one of a long list of these being assault, but the culture and environment he found himself in at this school was unlike anything he had experienced.

The only thing he could link it to was a serious case of bullying, where victims were genuinely fearful for their lives. The gangs that had integrated themselves into the very heart of the school reigned with a smug authority that made them seem just out of reach of him. They were everywhere. They could harm, they could scare and they could create a prison of silence around their victims which none of them dared to break. If he was honest with himself, Michael knew he was losing his grip on the school. In reality there was little he could do to stop the problem – if the police couldn't arrest any of the more serious perpetrators then how was he supposed to discipline them in a school setting? How was sitting one of them in isolation going to stop the other twenty who were out in the surrounding classrooms from carrying on the evil work of the ringleader? And who only knew what horrible plans would be cooked up if he put them all in one room together. Detention slips were worn as badges of honour, hung on walls next to their ASBOs and above their knuckle-dusters on the mantelpieces of their houses.

Sian was the only one that really noticed his distress. The hope that the staff had pinned on him was slowly slipping from his frame, the late nights of worrying visible on his face in lines of doubt and insecurity. To her, his state of mind was a worry, but she knew that he would battle on through it as though he had a plan. Those students that he had managed to reach had a belief that somehow Michael would be able to restore the school to a safe place and he had to uphold that image, even if it meant wearing all of their worry on his shoulders like dead weight. He sometimes looked to her for a bit of extra strength. She was his support, he knew she loved him and that even if he failed it wouldn't change, and he clung to that so tightly it made his palms bleed. He saw the rapport she had with the students, he saw how the demeaning sexual statements and wolf whistles from the hormonal gang members rolled off her like water off a duck's back and he knew that it shouldn't bother him. But somehow it did. Michael couldn't fathom how she could carry on as normal when he felt as though the school's roof was about to crash down around his ears. It wasn't until he confronted her one night that she said that of course the way she was treated pissed her off, of course she wanted to help him but she couldn't know how bad it was unless he told her. He knew that no-one could know any of it. Sometimes he lay in bed at night feeling his heart race and his chest constrict so tightly he thought it might explode. In those moments he reached over and grabbed Sian's hand from next to him, feeling her more regular pulse beat under his fingertips. She had no idea. He was _this close_ to giving in: let it be a failing school; he could find work elsewhere and no-one would blame him for giving up. But he saw the faces of the good kids, the ones that could be doctors, lawyers… teachers. Seeing their faces as they concentrated in class change so readily to blank stares as they examined the ground or to looks of terror made it that much harder to admit defeat. He saw them all the time and that's when he'd lean into her neck in the early hours of the morning and cry until he wasn't conscious anymore.

The week it happened was the week he was going to give up. He stress and the anger were consuming him and he was distracted, fidgety. Sian noticed that she didn't hold his attention and he barely smiled anymore. Seeing the disturbance out on the playground was a bit like waving a red flag in front of a bull's face. They could all see the two groups of boys ripping each other limb from limb, uncoordinated punches flying in a haze of uncontrolled testosterone. Everything that had been bothering him about the situation was present and coming to a head in this scrappy fight to the death that the students had created: and Michael wanted it done with. He felt liberated, throwing boys from other boys, yelling at them to stop. He was unleashing all this pent up anger at a situation he couldn't control. He knew he could control this, because once they had finished this brawl, they could all be arrested for assault and the school would be free again; he just had to cope with getting them to stop. Shoving another boy to the side he took a moment to catch his breath, the action seemed to have stalled with a mixture of relief and uneasiness falling over the group around him. It happened too fast for him to fully understand what was happening but he registered a burning pain to one side of his lower back before his knees hit the concrete with a heavy crack, and the sneer of the gang members came into view before he lost consciousness.

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The juxtaposition between Michael's most recent memory and his current situation couldn't have been greater. In fact, the difference was so great, he almost had to come to the conclusion that he was in Heaven. There was a riot in the back of his head, with young male voices all yelling and shouting obscenities until they were hoarse. He could feel rough school blazers up against the skin on his face and arms and the sharp dig of elbows and points of shoes in his ribs and around his ankles. The row escalated and a pulsing pain started in the back of his head, so forceful it felt like his brain was jumping to get out of his skull. His focus on the pain dulled everything else, and he was aware of the peaceful quiet that surrounded him. It was dark: his eyes were closed and he wanted it to stay that way for some reason. He couldn't feel any movement around him, the stillness was comforting and he relaxed despite the thudding in his head. It certainly felt like Heaven. Only… there was a small, continuous beeping coming from next to him, nothing too intrusive but it was there, ever present. He breathed deeply, hoping it would take his mind off the sound but he needed to swallow, and when he tried the lump in his throat refused to shift. It was stubborn to say the least. He tried again, swallowing down and feeling the skin of his throat to be all cracked and dry, a bit like cellophane wrapping inside tissue paper. Making a small noise to test his voice, he noted it was there just a bit husky, he felt something come into contact with his bare forearm. But still, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and take in his surroundings. He wasn't stupid. Slowly the puzzle was starting to fit together and he realised that free-for-all fight that had caused so much disruption and fear had probably landed him in hospital. Michael could hear her speaking now, close to his ear. Really he should have figured out that it was Sian's hand he could feel on his arm, she really had been through everything with him; even if he didn't want to accept her help for fear of looking weak. As his eyelids fluttered and his eyes opened long enough to see the shocked look on Sian's face, it dawned on him he should just have pretended he was still asleep. It took a few more seconds, as he watched Sian run from the room shouting for a doctor, that he realised he already regretted opening his eyes at all.

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It was around three days after that before Michael couldn't take it anymore. The day he woke up it took all of his energy to just listen to the doctors as they told him details of his operations and treatment, before he allowed Sian to fill him in on what had actually happened that day. Seeing her eyes almost fill with tears as she recalled the events – not her feelings, just the facts – let him know he had already worried her quite enough. He couldn't imagine how scared she had been, and with this in mind he convinced her to go home and spend a day recovering. He didn't explain his ulterior motive: he wanted time alone to process and he wanted distance. No-one in the world could understand what it was like to have young, supposedly slightly naïve people you nurtured everyday turn on you in such a flurry of hatred. It scared him knowing that the boys that had ignored him and attacked him had not felt his influence; and it registered more as a failure on his part than an attack that wasn't his fault. His school was closed now. Permanently. All because he had not been able to stop one rotten child from destroying the rest.

He spent day two wallowing in his own mind, digging for reasons, solutions, and alternative courses of action that could have stopped it. The only movement he made was the occasional head turn when a nurse came to check on his vitals or the IV in his arm. He couldn't face seeing their pitying faces. The pity they felt towards him fuelled an emotion that wasn't guilt: he started to feel angry. Because of that self-important little shit he was stuck in a hospital bed fighting for his life. Previously he had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown and God knows what had happened to the children that were terrorised in school and unable to fight back. The anger in his heart replaced the guilt in his head and it spiralled menacingly around in his veins, throbbing, rolling and building in momentum until it balled bitterly in the depths of his stomach; stewing, growing in strength and sourness until he couldn't even escape it in his dreams.

On day three, Michael nodded and grunted at Sian's petty chatter. Why ask how he was feeling? Wasn't it obvious? Every unhealthy emotion was combining in his body and he had no outlet for any of it. If only he could just… Sort his head out, clear a space that wasn't flooded with – with crap they maybe… Maybe…

"Michael?" She was back – again. He turned his head to look at her, face set and eyes expressionless.

"What?" He retorted. Short, but not unreasonable. Her interruption was annoying and came just as he thought he was getting somewhere.

"I just wanted to know if you wanted me to get you anything?" Michael shook his head briefly, stopping to reply when Sian still didn't move.

"No." He replied. "Thank you." This time he hoped he'd spoken with a sense of finality, this conversation needed to end so he could be alone. It was bad enough that he was feeling this confused, but he knew any more dialogue and Sian would get too involved in the darkness he was beginning to feel. If he had looked at her, he would have seen a fleeting glimpse of confusion and doubt cross Sian's eyes before something in her brain told her that she needed to press him on his recent personality shift. She wanted to help him and he clearly needed someone to talk to. Sian shifted her chair closer to the man on the bed, leaning forward a bit so she could try and make some eye contact with him.

"Michael…" She began, warily. "I know this must be difficult… But please talk to me. I want to help."

"You can't help Sian." The sentence came firing back without hesitation, or even a second's pause. "If you want to do something, go and get my school reopened so the kids have somewhere to learn." That was the challenge. Go and help me by doing the impossible, Sian. Maybe then you won't be back for a while and I can be left alone.

"You know I can't do that don't you? The governors –"

"Then you can't help, can you." Statement of proof, not a question anymore. He swore he felt her physically flinch next to him as his words hurtled towards her. After a deep intake of breath she spoke again, a little less certain this time.

"I know you're angry…"

"Angry? I'm furious. I'm furious that little shit Johnson got the school shut down and I'm even more mortified that I couldn't stop him. It was my job to stop him – and his gang. But I couldn't and the whole school is gone as a result. What's more I can't even get out of this bed to sort the whole sorry mess out. So angry is definitely a word I'd use!" He spat, finally locking eyes with her. He almost hoped the burning hatred for his situation got through to her so she would just go. He didn't need help, he didn't need sympathy; he just needed his job back. Michael realised that that was the first time he'd spoken about Wayne Johnson since he had woken up, and the thought of his attacker turned his veins to ice. He wasn't one of those people who hid from young boys in hoods when they walked past, shying away from people who fit the gang member stereotype, but the thought of facing that boy again was truly terrifying. Sian blinked next to him, looking into his eyes, trying to read him. Not wanting to be psychoanalysed, Michael averted his eyes; staring down at the bobbly N.H.S-issue blanket under his hands instead. How dare she try and figure him out when he'd shared everything he wanted to! He didn't want to talk. At all.

"There are people here you can talk to, you know?" She smiled weakly at him, trying to comfort. "They'll help you deal with what you're feeling… Being a victim isn't…" Sian got not further because Michael had swept his arm across his bedside table in a fit of rage; knocking over a water jug and glasses and sending a vase hurtling to the floor with a smash. The cry of outrage and anguish that accompanied it was enough to let her know she'd just blown it.

"Don't you dare call me that again!" Sian rose quickly as Michael almost shouted in her face, finding a space next to the door. Hugging herself firmly she looked at the destruction, clearly torn over clearing it up or leaving it because it would bring her closer to him again. His heavy breathing and red complexion hinted at complete emotional exhaustion and his current state was petrifying her. Shakily she nodded her understanding, looking worriedly over at the nurse who was waiting outside. Watching his breathing return to normal, Sian almost spoke again, but he beat her to it: speaking in a chillingly controlled tone. "Get out of this room and don't bother coming back."

As Sian walked away hastily, wiping a few escaping tears away from her cheeks with her eyes glued to the cream- coloured hospital floor, she wondered if he would ever calm down enough for her to see him again. Michael was weak, and it terrified him.

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Leave a comment if you feel like it!


	6. Road Trip

Hey guys, thank you very much for your reviews and views. I recently joined the WR forum and have been putting my fic up on there too, so come and say hi either here or on there! This is really early Mian right here – and it's fluff, as I'm sure Stacey will be pleased to hear!

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**Road Trip**

It wasn't often that they argued about things, let alone petty things, but on this occasion Michael and Sian found themselves arguing about something menial – and in an enclosed space.

Sian had been totally surprised when he turned up on her doorstep in the early hours of the Saturday morning of a bank holiday weekend. Hearing a furious beeping coming from the road outside, Sian swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded towards the window, sliding aside the net curtains to squint through the early morning sunlight to find the source of the noise. Looking down, she saw her boyfriend standing underneath her window, waving up at her like a euphoric lunatic – that was definitely not natural for a bank holiday weekend. Sian was used to being up early on a normal weekend, as she kept up her morning run; afraid that if she got out of the habit she would get lazy during the week. Signing to herself, and running her hand through her messy, unstraightened hair, she trudged down the stairs and unlocked the door; pulling it open with a yank. The chain caught and nearly hit her in the face and she could picture in minute detail the smug smirk that must be plastered over Michael's face; it almost made her want to punch him. Closing the door and removing the chain, she opened it again, looking expectantly at Michael and trying to gloss over the mishap form a minute ago.

"Morning." He said, grinning with glee at her. She felt his eyes scan up and down her form, from the silk nightgown down to her bare feet – and scratched painted toenails – and back up again to her face. As much as she wanted to be angry at him, she couldn't resist his smile for long and she cocked her head to lean it on the doorframe, with a sleepy 'Morning" in return. She carried on looking at him, as he cocked his eyebrow and looked encouragingly at her, but she did nothing but wonder how long she could leave him hanging like this.

"Aren't you going to ask what I'm doing here?" He asks, stepping forwards, hands casually slung into the pockets of his jeans. He looked out of place in his civvies, but Sian had to admit that she liked seeing him out of a suit sometimes. Schools had a habit of sucking people in, and the more you put in the more of your soul it seemed to own and drain at its will. Sometimes it was nice to know that she saw a part of Michael the school didn't.

"I don't know… Maybe I should keep you waiting a bit longer for interrupting my lie in?" She watched with glee as he spluttered incredulously before she drew her lips into a tight smile, biting her lip to stop her impending laughter escaping. "Fine! Michael! What on earth are you doing here?!" She mocks surprise and shock to humour him and she only gasps a little bit when he joins her on the doorstep, his hand wrapping around her waist as he gives her a quick kiss.

"I'm here to whisk you away for the weekend…" He whispers into her ear. "So I think you need to stop teasing me and pack a bag, so that we can get there…"

After throwing only the essentials into a bag (clothes, shoes, a toothbrush, some make-up and her moisturiser) she headed out to the car, where Michael was perched on the bonnet of his car. It was a green, battered old thing; Michael insisted it was 'vintage'. He wasn't yet on a particularly fantastic salary and as much as Sian teased him about it, she really didn't care. He threw open the drivers door and popped the seat so he could access the back seat, and he slung her bag unceremoniously into the bag, pretending that it weighed a tonne, when they were both aware that Sian packed lightly.

Eventually the pair were on the road. The pair were welcoming the dawn sun in style, with the beat-up radio in the front of the car playing some old nineties mix-tape and Sian had kicked off her shoes and was enjoying the lack of traffic on the country lanes. She still had no idea where they were going. Sian shot a sideways look at Michael, who was taping the steering wheel with his fingers, head bobbing, and mouthing the words as he faced forwards. It was quite cute really, in a dorky way. He caught himself mid lyric and clamped his mouth shut. His brow furrowed in amused confusion and he chanced a look at Sian, catching her eye as she started laughed at him. "What?" He challenged. She could only shake her head and laugh harder. "What? Oh that's funny is it?" Sian nodded and Michael slowed down, removing one hand from the wheel and poking her in the side with it.

"Michael!" Squirming in the passenger seat she tried to swat him away. "Stop! Michael keep your eyes on the road!"

"Have you just used your teacher voice on me?" He withdrew his hand back to the steering wheel, but he carried on grinning.

"No… What? No!" Sian yelled; she didn't have a teacher voice anyway…

"Okay…" Nonchalantly, he shrugged, smirking in the knowledge he was right and let it go. He turned up the stereo and started singing along this time, tapping the wheel and getting the notes and the lyrics to 'teenage dirtbag' incredibly wrong. Sian could only shake her head before joining in with a very stylish headbang.

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It was unfortunate that this lively mood didn't last into the second hour of the drive. The twisty country lanes had been too much for Michael's brain and he couldn't remember the way… Currently they were pulled over in a ditch – their make-shift hard shoulder - and several AA maps were spread out over Michael's lap. He scoured every inch of the paper for any sign of what he was looking for, but it had been about half an hour and he still hadn't found it. So here, they were, Sian resting her head on her hand, sighing in frustration whilst Michael muttered to himself agitatedly.

"Did you even mark it on the map?" And so it began.

"No Sian, because I knew where I was going…"

"Well clearly not, you're not a geography teacher Michael, nor are you some sort of super computer."

"I well aware, Sian." He said, irritated, but without looking up from his navigating.

"Then why didn't you stop and ask for directions! We went through a town about half an hour ago – honestly, men and asking for directions!" He looked up from his maps then.

"Half an hour ago I still knew where I was going!" There came a frustrated groan from Sian as she looked out of her window. Watching her roll her eyes and sweep her hand through her hair in agitation, Michael became annoyed. He was only trying to do something nice, after all. The petty arguing was just the last straw really, it was so ridiculous! Suddenly Michael found himself in a situation he hadn't been in for a long time; not since his dad had tried to give him the most outrageous telling off and he'd laughed all the way through for no other reason than he couldn't stop himself. His laughter bubbled and spilled into the car, the more he tried to suppress it the worse it became and soon he was almost crying – much to Sian's disgust.

"Really Michael?"

"Oh come on!" He managed between wracking laughter. "What are we doing?" His hysteria appeared to be catching, because soon Sian's lips started to twitch, and however hard she tried to stop it, the laughter appeared as she joined Michael's epic laughing fit.

They didn't argue often, and this was why. Even a petty squabble next to acres of fields in the middle of nowhere turned into a whole lot of fun.

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There it is! Any scenarios you'd like to see me tackle in this fic? Leave it in a review!


	7. The Bigger Man Part One

Sorry for the delay guys, I explained on the WR forum that I have no internet at the moment aside from a bit on my phone and any that I can get at uni. I'm going working on the requests people sent in reviews and I'm half way through one, but this one came out quicker and is based on the latest episodes. I just thought it would make more sense to put this one quite soon after the one about Michael's stabbing.

I'm breaking with tradition and writing a fic inside a fic so to speak. This chapter is part one of 2 or 3 exploring the events of episodes 3 and 4 of series 8. It was getting too long to post as an individual chapter.

Please review if you have time.

Disclaimer: I don't own Waterloo Road etc, the dialogue used in this one-shot is taken from episode 3 and 4 of the latest series and isn't mine either!

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**The Bigger Man**  
_Part One_

After rescuing Tariq, Michael was desperately in need of a break. He was already beating himself up over the fact he had absolutely no idea the young man was feeling so hopeless; and after the success of the new school opening his plight brought Michael straight back down to earth. The bollocking he received from Lorraine just reinforced how frustrated he felt at his entire situation. The new Waterloo Road was supposed to be helping people, but instead it had been plagued with tragedy and drama, with rival schools attempting sabotage and he had been ill prepared for how many of his adolescent misdemeanours they would manage to find. He'd hidden that part of his life away for so long, and he didn't want anyone close to him to quiz him on things he didn't want to face: let alone the children in his care.

Lorraine left his office with promises of spinning his personal hell into a finely tuned press release, and it left Michael taking refuge in the silence. It had been a long time since he'd been able to stop and take stock away from the mayhem, the stares and harsh judgements only teenagers can bestow. But he couldn't enjoy it for long. A swift knock sounded against his office door, followed by it opening. He hoped it wasn't one of the kids as he couldn't stand to tell anyone _again_ how important it was to wait to be asked in. Though he couldn't say he was surprised when Sian wrenched open the door and walked briskly into his office.

"You wanted to cast your eye over my reports." Yes… She was angry. It wasn't a question, he'd given her a deadline and she had realised that seeing him was completely unavoidable. There wasn't even eye contact, just an unceremonious dumping of files on his desk as se turned on her heel. Michael barely managed to utter a 'thanks' before she reached the door. He knew she was angry, but that was frosty, even for Sian. She had once said to him that wen she was a teenager, she was able to flip from charming student to bitch without hesitation if she felt threatened, part of the girls- only school ethic or something; that was definitely getting an airing now. God she had a temper sometimes. He wasn't entirely sure he deserved all the coldness that was coming his way. Should he call her back? Would it be more trouble than it was worth? Probably. But it would only get more awkward the longer he left it. "Sian…" That sounded a little bit more desperate than he'd intended… "Sorry I haven't been open with you it's just not something I like to shout about." Well at least that had gotten her to turn around. She was doing that thing where she tried to psychoanalyse you – work you out. Her frustration at being unable to was evident. Normally she would already know the outrageous revelation about his past, but this time it was news to even her and she was clearly miffed. The office was far too quiet at this time of day, there were no warring children shouting in the playground outside to leak in through his poorly-insulated window and the whole wing was so far removed from the main school that no inside noise came close to invading. The silence was getting to be a bit stifling in this situation. Considering that Michael thought himself to be in the right about withholding his secret, he was doing well at managing Sian's temper so far. She was a woman, that meant she was being a little sensitive – right? She didn't confide in him when she was having trouble with Jez… Well, not right away. Maybe he should have told her after all.

"Because bottling it up is going to help… ask Tariq." He could tell she was getting some bravery back – she had stepped sluggishly into his office again. It was a low shot. In all honesty Michael was fed up of Sian dragging up the period after his stabbing, it was almost as though she still blamed him for the various disasters her life had held. He shut her out after the stabbing so they broke up. That was fair. But blaming him for her marriage to Jez, then the subsequent break-up and their affair was totally wrong. It seemed to be a hurdle that Sian just refused to jump, so as much as he wanted to rise to the bait; he chose to let it all slide for the sake of not having an identical argument again. Anyway, this was different. This wasn't bottling anything up or shutting her out. This was about him protecting himself for once, and leaving his past behind him.

"I'm not bottling anything up. There's no guilt here, certainly no remorse." He watched her blanch a bit at the admission, clearly taken aback by his brutal honesty. Sian was used to seeing a Michael that only pushed things for the force of good; hearing him admit that he wasn't sorry for nearly killing his own father was a harsh reality check – and not something she was willing to take at face value.

"You must feel something." It wasn't a question. Sian refused point blank to take what he said as gospel. No one was as heartless as that, let alone him. She was fighting the urge to reach out to him further, it would be so easy to forget this conversation, stride across the room and shake him, tell him to stop being like… this? It was indefinable. This man wasn't Michael, but in so many ways it was. It was just a struggle to grasp that something so dark could have happened to him. Everything felt tainted: their friendship especially. Sian honestly could have cried, the thought of the Michael she knew, was friends with, fell in love with, being so different from the Michael that sat in front of her right now. Everything else was the same, but she felt so betrayed. Surely, he was still _her_ Michael.

"I feel that my father deserved everything he got… that man beat my mother like clockwork**." **He looked up and into her eyes, trying to guess her reaction. It wasn't that he thought she'd think badly of him, he didn't need to justify himself but… She was already defeated, he needed to give her something to restore her faith in him. That is, before the bitterness started coming back to him. He swallowed down the bile that threatened to linger in his throat as he spoke about what he used to experience as a child. Refusing to look at her, instead choosing to focus on something in the corner of the room, the recalled one or two small facts. "Shoes not polished enough - the belt. Dinner too hot, dinner too cold the back of his hand do you want me to go on?" It all seemed to run away with him, like the words had been laying just under his tongue ready to jump out whenever he chose to use them. They were just that though: words. Sian could form her own images to go with those phrases, they would never compare to the images that appeared in his own head. When she asked why her mother never left his father, Michael almost laughed. Because, let's face it, the whole ridiculous notion came from the lips of a woman who had grown up with no real worries; other than getting the occasional B grade in mock exams. Sheltered is the word he'd choose for her childhood – certainly in comparison to his, and sometimes he wondered if she was ever disconcerted by the lives the Waterloo Road kids led. At her all girls public school there was little talk of any working class problems and all her dorm mates had to worry about was whether or not they had the latest Gucci bag. He knew he wasn't been fair, Sian hadn't been like some of those girls in her school; and the generalised stereotype he was thinking of was just that: a stereotype. But in his experience, the more fortunate were often clueless as to the plight of kids like those who attended Waterloo Road – kids like he had been. Sian couldn't be protected forever, and he at least wanted to be honest. "She didn't want him to start on me. She always made sure I was in my bed when he got home from the pub. Out of sight. She waited…" Stopping there, he couldn't hide his subtle smile. His mother had been a very brave lady. He was still absolutely bowled over by her sacrifices even to this day, years after she had died. There were very few people who would obediently wait for a drunken husband to beat seven shades out of them but she did - and all for the sake of her son. "Never put up a fight. I lay there listening to it and there was nothing I could do because he was bigger than me." Out of everything, he thought, that was definitely the hardest thing to admit to. Michael Byrne – 'the headmaster that could do anything' had spent his childhood cowering under the duvet with a pillow clamped over his head; shaking in his pyjamas as he tried to block out the whimpers and occasional cries of surprise and pain that were coming from downstairs. A variation of other noises normally pierced the air: smashing plates, furniture being scraped against the wooden floors before they were overturned, glasses smashing against walls. He had heard it all.

It was the quiet that scared him most, though. When it was all over. In those moments he'd slightly release the hold on his pillow, heart thudding in his small chest, listening for the sounds of heavy boots on the stairs. It was the pause when his father reached the top that made him draw the duvet further around him as he squeezed his eyes shut and _begged _God to let his father leave him alone. He could only relax a fraction when he heard the bedroom door slam, because then the quiet returned and another fear consumed him. What if he'd killed her this time? A young Michael would wait, frozen in terror, listening out for any sounds that indicated his mother was still breathing. He didn't often will for her to cry, or shout, and it was sick to think it now; but Michael longed to hear the shaky, breathy gasps his mother made in the aftermath of a cruel beating. As long as he heard something, he knew they were at least both alive; even if they both weren't safe.

"Then one day I was bigger than him."

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I had to leave it there - it's already about 2,000 words as it is but hopefully I'll be able to update soon.


	8. The Bigger Man Part Two

So this is Part 2. I won't be updating as regularly now, mainly because I now have uni full time. Unlike most regular courses, I'm at drama school studying lighting and sound for theatre and for the next few weeks I'm working 12 hour days getting ready for the first show of the year. This doesn't leave much time for writing, so I'll ask you all to be patient.

Thanks for the reviews and comments for the last chapter, this one has no Sian in as it's entirely in flashback. This ones all Michael, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

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**The Bigger Man**  
_Part 2_

It wasn't as though he had planned for it to happen. In fact, he was trying everything he could possibly think of to avoid what he knew was inevitable. The trouble was – if you knew something was inevitable, then how much were you trying to stop it at all? Confused? So was Michael. The thoughts in his head were starting to sound like something out of a Lewis Carroll story, and it was getting to be too much for him. How exactly was a sixteen year old supposed to deal with the life he'd been given? Michael was sure none of his friends would be able to cope; not that he had many left. He'd been popular once. But it didn't take a genius to realise that his constantly changing moods, irritable demeanour and currently blasé attitude meant the boys who he'd played football and joked around in lessons with were all trying to steer clear. It didn't help that he was often spotted hanging around outside the office of the school councillor like some sort of stalker. He imagined that was actually what his peers thought he was. A stalker. If only that's the identity he could assume. It would be a lot cooler than his current definition. Instead of Michael Byrne: stalker; people would read 'Michael Byrne: terrified and misunderstood sixteen year old who still cries in his sleep and wets the bed after particularly horrendous nightmares. This dictionary in particular doesn't specify if the nightmares were ones he encountered in his sleep or when he was wide awake.

So here he was again, leaning against a wall, peering round the corner at the door to the councillors office and wondering whether to knock. He desperately needed to tell someone what he was thinking of doing, because if he was honest his own thoughts scared him. Having been at school, watching boys live normal lives, he knew his life wasn't the norm at all. Hell, he thought he was a freak! An adult who wet the bed? Who pleaded with God every night to hear the screams of his own mother just so he knew she was breathing? That wasn't normal. Neither was crouching under the desk in his room until his father had fallen comatose before running downstairs to clean up his mothers' blood. But it was the anger he felt that worried him the most. When he'd removed all the blood from her face and bandaged up her wounds, arms wrapped around her tightly as she sobbed into his small chest; the anger that consumed him was unbearable. The man who'd caused so much damaged was sleeping soundly mere feet above them and all it would take was a pillow to the face. But why do it when he'd die peacefully? A dilemma much like Hamlet's. It was almost laughable that he was comparing his home life to the choice of a character from Shakespeare; but he couldn't help it. His flare for English came from a desire for escapism from everything, not that his teachers knew that. They just believed him to be a very capable student in their subject – at least that made him special to somebody.

A hard knock to the shoulder forced him from his thoughts as he moved to prevent his skull cracking against the cement of the wall. Boys from the upper sixth rugby squad sent menacing looks his way and he turned to the door once more, finding it open with the councillor – Miss Lennox – staring curiously at him. Too startled to contemplate talking to her, Michael walked briskly in the opposite direction; heart quickening as the bell rang for home time.

Michael didn't go home straight away. He never did. Instead he ran to an alley close to his home where he met Gordon, a pub landlord's son. He would hand over a couple of pounds to the weedy boy, and in return he'd get the insider knowledge he longer for. Gordon would keep watch for him a couple of nights a week, and let him know when his dad was about to leave the pub. This gave Michael a good fifteen minutes to run home, as it would take his dad at least twice as long to stagger there unaided. He used the time in between to do his homework on a normal night. But tonight wasn't a normal night. Tonight, sixteen year old Michael Byrne paid Gordon a couple of extra pounds and received in return a pint of lager from the pumps in the basement. Dismissively, the money was handed over and soon Michael was alone, just staring at the liquid in the glass. What was it about the nondescript substance that made people so angry, courageous, downright awful? He swallowed thickly and brought the drink up to his face, sniffing once. It wasn't even particularly pleasant. Taking a swig bravely, Michael coughed at the strength of it before swallowing down a few more mouthfuls. He wasn't aiming to get drunk – he was aiming to satisfy his curiosity.

Running home, he wrenched open the door and caught his mother in a bear hug briefly before running upstairs to 'carry on with his homework'. It wasn't long before he heard a few crashes and profuse swear words from outside, the key clicking in the lock and his father staggering into the kitchen from the hallway.

Very slowly, he left the sanctuary of his room for the first time. It felt weird. He'd heard of people having out of body experiences before, but as he walked slowly down the stairs he almost felt like he was watching himself. The only thing convincing him otherwise was the feel of the worn carpet under his feet, and the dull thud of the shockwaves that went through his legs with every heavy step. Reaching the bottom, his fists clench as he hears the start of an argument already taking place. A deep voice menacingly whispering in the dark. Michael stepped into the doorway. "That's enough." His legs were shaking, he wasn't sure whether it was down to the fear, the alcohol or the adrenaline. Either way, it wasn't the best of starts. He was completely tense, every muscle wound tightly and jaw set, purely focussing on his father's broad back as he leant over his mother; who wore an expression of deep shock and dread at what was to come.

Feeling sick to the pit of his stomach he watched as his father turned around, perplexed at hearing his voice when he was normally shut up in his room. Michael could tell it had thrown him, if only for a second and in that second he caught sight of his mother's face and he started to doubt if this was the right thing to do. His mothers face was haunted, tears filled her doubtful eyes and Michael wondered if, for the first time in her life, she was scared of what he was capable of too. Unfortunately, Michael's idea of a second was different from his father's, and while he was still busy staring at his mother's fearful frame; his father had regained some sort of composure and wasted no time in swinging for the teenager. Eyes widening, Michael managed to duck the lethargic blow and back up clumsily, tripping over the edges of his baggy jeans before his back collided with the kitchen wall. He just had time to suck in a desperate breath before the first punch landed squarely in his stomach. Surprisingly, it hurt more than he was expecting it to, and it was all Michael could do to not fall to his knees desperate for air. Instead, a fighting instinct stirred inside of him and that combined with rage and an urge to protect his mother took over. Not sure how it started, he found himself aimlessly throwing punches, landing several to his father's torso. He was vaguely aware of his mother screaming, almost begging for him to stop. But he couldn't.

He was fighting back. His father was responding. Every blow was delivered with intention and fury and soon the pace picked up so much it was hard to tell where one of them ended and the other began. Michael was scrappy, and scrawny, but it didn't stop him giving as good as he got. The taste of blood filled his mouth and he didn't know why, especially considering he was hurting a lot worse elsewhere. Almost exhausted, he staggered a bit, feeling two meaty hands clamp down around his neck and he began to panic. He was tired and losing air quickly. With no nails to scratch away the vice, he kicked out a leg, managing to catch his father in the shin, and then hook his leg around the back of his fathers knee joint. His father let go, falling backwards and hitting his head on the corner of the kitchen table.

If only that were the end of it. Michael saw his father moving and realised that the blow hadn't even rendered him unconscious. What was it going to take to stop him? The anger rushed through Michael, all the years of fear and resentment, malice, pain, upset caused by this man and here he was; towering over him like a giant about to trample on a town. Tears started to fill his eyes, breathing erratic as he focussed on how angry he was at the situation he'd been put in. He was sixteen. He shouldn't be thinking about how many blows it would take before his father was unconscious and no longer a threat. The first kick to the stomach felt good. It felt liberating. He could finally express his feelings through a new medium and he didn't want it to stop, so he carried on kicking and punching through his tears. Red-faced and yelling insults until he was hoarse. The smashing of a plate snapped him from his red-misted trance and he looked up, panting. His mother was standing, leaning on the table for support with blood trickling from a gash in her hand which was resting on a pile of smashed crockery. Her eyes were full of dismay and she bellowed at him, screaming so loud it sounded perverse, wrong, like nails on a blackboard. "Stop!" She was begging, he could tell, and suddenly he realised exactly what he been doing. He looked down at the bloodied body of his father – who was still breathing – and watched as skin already started to bruise. Michael was still shaking, but he realised how close he had been to killing his father and he almost fainted. Since when was he the same as his father? The look in his mother's eyes was the same once he saw when he came downstairs every night. She was terrified of him. For once, he was devastated to hear the terror in her voice.

He backed out of the kitchen, running up the stairs and into his room. It was only now, hiding under his duvet, listening to the same sobs and whimpers he heard after his father beat seven bells out of his mother; that Michael wondered when he had become such a monster?


End file.
